


Warp and Woof (The Education of Prince Adam)

by lucidseeming



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidseeming/pseuds/lucidseeming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Adam is a Crown Prince and grew up really isolated and hell with that cuz now he's found True Love (Brad) and ain't no mountain high enough, and Kris has an amazing knowledge of the cost of fabric and also a crossbow, which he uses to shoot Adam, for which he gets put in prison but not for long cuz the King figures if Kris is so good at bringing down the Prince he might as well be assigned to keep him from running off.  Not the King's best idea, but it works out well in the end, so who am I to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warp and Woof (The Education of Prince Adam)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 4 of the [Kradam Big Bang](http://kradambigbang.livejournal.com/) challenge. The [luscious artwork](http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/137370.html) is the creation of the multitalented [Ibrahil](http://evian-fork.livejournal.com). I am honored that she chose this story to illuminate with her rich and dreamy pieces.

Allison and Tommy would already be at The Toad. They were trying out two new songs tonight, and Kris wanted to get there early so they could rehearse before the evening’s performance. He hurried down the road from the castle grounds. The sun was just starting to hit the horizon.

He knew he was really lucky to have a job. People all across the kingdom were struggling to get by, and it was darn hard to find work, much less a position as good as Royal Gamekeeper. And if Kris forgot how lucky he was, there were people every day who reminded him. Like his dad, whose business as a fabric merchant was hanging by, yeah ok, a thread. When people were having trouble buying food, broadcloth went way down on the list. Or Tommy, who’d been out of work for seven months now, and was secretly sleeping in the storage room at the back of the tavern, The Sparkly Toad, thanks to the kind sneakiness of their mutual friend Allison, who worked there as a server.

It was just that when he was playing music there was so much happiness in him he could feel it in his skin. So many people had been coming in to see them on Saturday nights that the owner had actually started giving them a tiny amount of the evening’s take. Kris let himself imagine--

He stopped, jolted out of his thoughts. The single road through the center of town was completely filled with horsemen. The horses were the big warmbloods favored by the King’s Guards, and mounts and riders alike were draped in the royal colors. A breeze whipped a black banner with a silver slash: the Prince’s flag. It was clearly a royal escort, and the Prince must be in the center of that mob of color and tossing manes. The group was moving at a trot toward Kris, toward the castle.

Kris had just reached the bridge at the north end of town, and stepped to the edge to watch the spectacle pass. The impact of hooves on the ground made a sweet rumble and threw earth into the crisp air. The Prince was at university; what would bring him home now? Although Kris’ job took him through the vast forests of the royal estate, his contact with the household was pretty much limited to the gardeners and their mutual superior, the Grounds Master, and his knowledge of castle gossip was sketchy. He understood the King and Queen were very pleased with their eldest son’s academic achievements and responsible behavior. Kris had only been in his current job a year, and the Prince was gone by the time he arrived, but his teenaged reputation had been as an indifferent student and one who didn’t put himself at risk of working too hard, so there had been a general sigh of relief at his transformation into a diligent scholar. 

Kris remembered a morning when their father had taken he and Daniel out to go fishing. As they hiked past the castle garden, on the other side of the wrought-iron fence sat a little boy with reddish-blonde hair. He was dressed from head to toe in blue satin without a scuff or stain. A uniformed nurse stood a few feet away on either side and a member of the King’s Guards at attention nearby. Kris remembered how the boy’s eyes lit up when he saw he and Daniel. He hopped off the bench and walked hesitantly toward them.

“Prince Adam,” one of the nurses snapped.

The little boy stopped, teeth clamped on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on Kris. Kris smiled, and the boy broke out an enormous grin. He jumped up and down, hair flying.

“They coming to play? They coming to play??”

Kris felt his father take his hand and pull him. “Come on, Kristopher.” His father began to walk more quickly, and Kris glanced over his shoulder to see the boy’s eyes tracking him in sorrow as they hurried away. A nurse stepped in front of the boy and bodily turned him around. As they got to the top of the trail and were about to drop down into their little fishing valley, Kris looked one last time. The nurses were both back at their symmetrical stations, and the little boy was seated motionless on the bench, his hands folded in front of him, staring at nothing. Kris had never forgotten it.

Kris stood on his toes to try to catch a glimpse of what the little boy had become, but the horses were tall, and the riders closely bunched. The group moved by quickly and he saw nothing but the helmets and liveried backs of the King’s Guard. Well, it was nothing to him, whatever brought the Prince home. He turned back toward the Toad.

One arm full of empty glasses, Allison looked up from wiping down a table to grin at Kris as he came in. Her red hair fountained defiantly from her head, and Kris smiled. It made her outer self the perfect expression of her off-the-wall, energetic personality.

Tommy, on the other hand, half sat, half lay in a chair as if he was suffering from blood loss, idly picking at his guitar.

“You gonna make it?” Kris asked as he walked by.

“Donno yet.”

Kris retrieved his guitar from the cupboard where they were allowed to keep their instruments.

“Kris! Did you see the Prince! A whole bunch of riders came through, and I think it was him!” Allison’s eyes were wide. “Did you see him?”

“I saw them go by, but I couldn’t see past the guards. Must’ve been him though.” Kris tuned his guitar.

“It was so exciting!”

“Ooh, really exciting,” Tommy said. “A bunch of horses. Maybe tomorrow you’ll see some cows.”

“I hope I meet the Prince someday. Then I can tell him he reminds you of a cow.” Allison gave Tommy a withering look before her eyes turned dreamy.. “I bet he’s the handsomest man in the world.”

“Sorry, that spot’s taken.” Tommy swung the hair out of his eyes.

“Keep smoking that stuff. You’re not even the handsomest man in this room,” Allison said flatly. Tommy gave Kris a resentful glare, and Kris flushed. But before Tommy could put words to his opinion, Allison turned to Kris. “Maybe you’ll get to see him while he’s here. Maybe he’ll go for long walks in the woods.”

“I doubt it. I’ve only seen the King and Queen like once.” Kris tested the guitar. Mmm, not quite.

Allison was undamped. “Maybe the Prince will come into town. Maybe he’ll ask you to show him around.”

“Yeah, cause he used to come into town all the time when he was growing up,” Tommy said with a sneer, “Plus he’s not gonna have some gamekeeper show him around. People like us, we don’t even exist to people like him.”

“You don’t know that!” she flared. “He might be really nice.”

“No doubt. Cause having people say ‘yes’ to you all the time makes you really great company. Even Kris would be a jerk if he was a prince.”

Kris strummed the guitar. It sounded good. “I donno. Maybe it doesn’t work like that. People say ‘no’ to you all the time, and you’re still a jerk.”

Allison snickered. Tommy said, “Ha ha ha. Are we gonna rehearse?”

“‘Shut up and sing,” Kris agreed and brought the guitar to life. 

* * *

The horses jogged along, and the air was sharp with the scents of the forest. They’d reached Itchwich, the village nestled below the castle. Adam saw people in the main street move quickly to the side as the royal convoy swept into town.

The Guards occasionally snuck sideways glances at him, but Adam kept his face blank. He saw townsfolk staring at the riders, whispering to each other, and realized people would find out that he was brought back, under guard and under orders of the King. It stung, and he tried to turn his mind away from it. He didn’t like disappointing people. But his parents and his position had painted an outline he just couldn’t fill. 

They pounded across the bridge that marked the start of the climb to the castle. Between the jostling horses and the royal banners, he caught a glimpse of a young man standing just off the road. It was--! No...for a moment he thought it was Brad: the features, the coloring, were strikingly similar. But somehow he looked completely different.

“Huh.”

A horse tossed its head, and he was cut off from sight. Adam tried to analyze the contrast between his love and this man by the road. He turned in the saddle but couldn’t find him through the moving wall of guards. The face was as beautiful as Brad -- he shook his head. He needed to focus. There was no time for that now. He had to get his thoughts together before the confrontation with his father. 

Adam flinched inwardly. His father was formidable. And Adam had lied to him, implicitly if not literally. Had paid people to take classes for him, to write papers for him. Had pretended to be a successful student when most of what he learned was how much sex could be performed and alcohol consumed in one day. It was an embarrassment that would reflect on the whole family. He took a deep breath.

Remorse coursed through him. He had been taught better. He had dishonored the gift of education his parents had bestowed in sending him to college. But there was more to it than that. He had been chained to the ground so long, when he was freed he flew. As fast, as high and as long as he could. Were they really surprised?

And he had found something that even disgrace and his father’s anger wouldn’t keep him from. He, who had always been alone, had found love.

It had taken strength to survive the strange, isolated world he had grown up in, and he reached for that now. Yes, he was the eldest son of the House of Lambert. That did not make him a slave to obligations he had never asked for. His days as doing as he was told were over. No, the King wouldn’t be the only one angry at this meeting.

* * *

The next day was Sunday, the one day Kris didn’t have to work, which was perfect because the gig at the Toad meant late Saturday nights. Kris’ dad was a fabric merchant, and the family lived in the two floors above the shop. Kris came down from the bedrooms to find his mom preparing the big Sunday meal and his dad absorbed in his accounting ledger. The room smelled of baked bread, and warm oven air alternated with a damp draft from where a window was broken and a wood plank had been imperfectly fitted into the space. 

His mom glanced up and smiled. "Good morning, Honey. How are you?”

“Good, Mama.” He helped himself to a fresh piece of bread.

“How was yesterday? We heard the Prince was home. Did you see him?”

He snorted. “No, Mama. You know I never see the family. I’m just there to keep poachers out. I saw his escort ride by. Couldn’t see him.”

“How did things go at the Toad? The weather was nice. Did you get a lot of people?”

“Pretty good crowd. They liked the new songs.”

“You’ll have to play them for me later.”

“Aw, Mama...” He shrugged in embarrassment.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” she said with a smile. 

A quick drum of footsteps up the stairs, and Daniel blew in, cheeks flushed from the cold. He’d obviously been up for a while and raked Kris with a disgusted look. “Finally.”

“Man, I get up at four o’clock every day. If I wanna sleep in on Sunday, what’s your problem?”

“Did you hear about the Prince?”

“He’s back, he’s back. Hey, I heard the Prince was back.”

“Yeah, but do you know why? The King sent the guards to arrest him. He was cheating at the University. Paying people to do his work. He took over the student residence and turned it into a pleasure palace with--”

“Daniel,” his mother said sharply.

“That sounds interesting,” their dad said, not looking up from his ledger.

Kim sent him a glare intended to silence. He knew what she was doing without raising his eyes, and just smiled.

“They say the King is furious and the Queen was so upset a doctor had to be called. Alfred’s cousin’s girlfriend saw them put chains on the Prince, and he was dragged down to the dungeon.” 

“That is a horrible story,” Kim said. “And I’m sure it’s not true.”

“You shouldn’t be too sure,” Neil said calmly. Everyone stared at him in amazement. He was never a source of gossip. “Becket Briarbeard came by this morning to pick up a bolt of damask and said he heard the King shouting last night, all the way in the kitchen. Becket’s daughter works there, and he’d stopped by to give her some money. She said she’d never so much as heard the King raise his voice before.”

“What was he saying?” Daniel asked.

“Well...” Neil was generally the last person to say negative things about others, but the pressure their eyes him drove him on. “Um. Something about disgrace...I--I don’t recall.”

They glared at him, even Kim.

“But the Prince was shouting back,” he said desperately. “At the King.” His lips clamped shut, and they knew that was all they’d get from him.

“Well that’s a pity,. King Eber is a good man--” Kim paused. “--even if his tailor sews like a one-fingered monkey in the back of a runaway wagon.” 

Kris grinned. Kim’s opinion of the royal clothier was no secret in their family. “Well, knowing the dungeons is probably important for a prince’s education,” he said thoughtfully, and Daniel laughed.

“I wonder how long they’ll leave him down there?” Daniel said.

“That’s enough of that,” Kim announced. “Kris, when you get a chance, would you cut me three yards of that new tartan, the one with the blue? I want to make you a new shirt." An awesome seamstress, his mom helped support the family, often making clothes for those in the village who could afford it, and sometimes even the lesser nobility. 

"Mama, that's so sweet, but I don't really need one."

By virtue of their professions, clothing was one thing Kim and Neil could give their two sons. The family's very thin finances made any kind of luxury items an impossibility, and Kris knew that his father had often skipped a meal so that the boys would have a full dinner, but on the other hand, Kris and his brother had damned fine wardrobes for people of their fairly low social stature. 

"You can always use a new shirt."

Kris glanced at Daniel, who rolled his eyes. Between them, he and Kris had almost 20 shirts, a wardrobe opulence that made them the envy and ridicule of their friends. They didn't dare give any of their shirts away, either, because their mom would certainly find out and be hurt.

"OK, Mama, well thank you."

"Would you maybe like something in a nice tweed, or maybe brown silk?"

Daniel snickered.

"Silk! Mama, I am not wearing silk. I'd look like an idiot."

"You’d look like a Lord," Daniel remarked. “That’s even worse.”

"There’s nothing wrong with silk. It’s lightweight and tough, and it comes in nice colors. And frankly, Honey, you have an awful lot of tartan shirts."

"I like tartan," Kris said in a wounded tone.

* * *

Adam sat in his chambers, his father’s voice still thundering in his ears and his hands shaking a little from the intensity.

His mother had said nothing, just stared at him. It was what he expected from her.

The chambers had a clammy chill. No servant had come in to set the fire, and the stone smelled of old ash. He thought of ringing for someone, but every tongue in the castle would be trilling to the story of his shame and the King’s anger.

“I am so disappointed.” Those words from his father. He had snarled back, something snide and smart, to show he didn’t care.

His head bent low. He blinked, and tears dropped.

Blindly he reached for his bag, and gathered up what was on top. Brad’s shirt. He had stuffed into the bag while the Guards watched him pack, to have something of his to take with him. Now he hugged it to his chest.

* * *

4 am. It was viciously dark, and the room Kris shared with Daniel was freezing. He got up and pulled on clothes that felt like he was wrapping snow around his bed-warm body. He bit back the whimpers to keep from waking his brother and slipped out of the room. Down in the kitchen he picked up the lunch his mom had packed for him and went down the final flight of stairs.

On the ground floor, where the business was, he was surprised to see light. Spools of silk, brocade, damask and crape spangled in the glow of the lamp. Beside them, coarser, less expensive weaves absorbed and softened the light, and the fabric smelled of spicy, faraway places. It always lifted Kris’ heart to walk through his dad’s shop.

“Hey,” he said to his dad, who was looking over a couple of spools he had pulled out from the rest. “Got an early delivery?”

“I wish I did. I’m thinking of putting some of these on sale to try and just get some money coming in.”

Kris was dismayed. His dad was not one for negative talk. If he actually said that, the weight of things he wasn’t saying must be huge.

For a moment his dad seemed to wrestle with himself, then he went on, “I have to start thinking about other things I could do. Do you know--do they need anybody at the tavern? I could do--” He shrugged. “--doesn’t matter. You know, anything.”

Kris tried not to show his shock. They had gone through difficult times, but his dad had never talked about getting other work. And there was NOTHING out there. Tommy had been looking for months.

“You mean, keep the shop, but make some extra money to supplement it?”

“No. I’ll let it go. There’s barely any business anyway,” he said with false lightness.

Kris felt the pain right through his heart. His dad loved this place. It was his life’s work. 

“I have a job. I can pay for what we need until we ride this out.”

“That’s--” His dad shook his head and cleared his throat. “That’s good of you, Kris, but--”

“No, Dad. No. After all you’ve done for me? And this affects all of us. If we give up the shop, we lose the place we live. I’ll get us by. I don’t wanna hear any arguments.”

He gave his dad a quick hug and walked out before he could counter.

The cold wind slapped him in the face as he walked up the hill toward the castle grounds. Seeing his dad afraid was more chilling than the wind. Everyone was saying things were starting to turn around and get better. He had to make sure they were able to hang on until then.

One long, low arm of the castle served as the base for the grounds staff. The rooms there housed tools used by the gardeners, and building equipment used by the masons and carpenters, whose work keeping the castle maintained was ongoing, and a cornucopia of mysterious supplies and devices that had been accumulated through the centuries. One of the smaller rooms served as a logistical base for the workers. Kris’ first task on arriving at the castle was to check in. Most of the men didn’t arrive until it was light, so Kris just said good morning to the Chief Groundsman and his assistant, who were planning out the day’s schedule, and headed out to begin his rounds.

Windows in the kitchen wing were lit, the staff there already busy. Kris’ boots crunched down the gravel path as he headed for the King’s Woods. As Gamekeeper it was his job to see to the welfare of the animals that lived in the woods--ironically, so that they would be available if any of the royal family or their friends wanted to come out and kill them. There had been no hunts in Kris’ time as Gamekeeper, and for that he was grateful. He’d come to know the animals: the badgers in the north hill, the family of foxes by the wall, the small herd of deer, the hawks that nested in the treetops. The animals had gotten used to him too, and many of them would let him walk by with no more than a haughty glance at the slovenly interloper in their world.

Kris spent the first half of each day walking the perimeter of the part of the estate that was covered by forest. That amounted to several miles, and in the summer dawn was early enough that it wasn’t too difficult. But, during the winter, as it was now, it could go from challenging to ridiculous. Although there was only a sliver of moon at the moment, but it wasn’t actively raining or snowing, so he counted himself lucky. At least he knew the terrain well enough now that he’d stopped falling in holes or getting knocked in the head by low branches. Bit by bit he’d cut himself a narrow path so he could squeeze along the fence without too much obstruction.

It was so early the crepuscular creatures hadn’t even begun to stir. A few insane birds, singing wildly about some development in Bird World, and Kris quietly moving along the fence, were the only sounds for a long time.

The first shafts of light had just pierced the forest when the noise came. A deep clang, and a choked cry.

Kris froze. Now there was an erratic banging. The vibration hummed through the iron fence next to him.

Crouching, he hurried forward, tracking the fence with one gloved hand and fending branches with the other. 

In the hazy light all he could see was something big was thrashing against the fence, caught on the spear points that lined the top. Tall and narrow--human. The fence had caught a poacher for him.

“Hang on, hang on--” Maybe those weren’t the best words, but, whatever. “I’ll get you down.”

The thrashing stopped, and the man hung there, gasping, toes about four feet off the ground.

“Can you breathe?”

“Yeah.” It was just a rough gasp.

That meant he could check the guy for weapons before he let him down. 

He grabbed a coil of rope, and before the poacher knew what he was doing, lashed his legs to the fence. The guy’s feet were right at his waist level, and Kris didn’t want to get kicked.

“Hey!” Sure enough, his legs flexed convulsively, but the rope held him.

Kris ran his hands up the man’s legs. He was tall, his thighs powerful. By the time Kris got to his hips he was on his toes, reaching.

“What the fuck’re you doing?” gasped his prisoner.

Kris pulled himself up on the fence. Ran a hand firmly over the man’s stomach and up his chest. Leather straps from some kind of pack strained tightly, hanging him from the fence.

“Get--your hands--off me!”

“Where’s your hunting gear, mmm? Did you throw it over?” He grabbed one of the man’s wrists and swiftly bound it to the other.

He almost didn’t complete the knot, because the guy went crazy. He flung his body away from Kris and fought. The straps to the pack gave way suddenly, and he and Kris fell from the fence, landing with a crunch in the leaves and tiny branches that carpeted the forest. With his feet lashed to the fence, the poacher landed on his face and shoulders, stunned.

Kris was on his feet in a second. He ripped loose the knot holding the man’s feet to leave him free to breathe. Then he slung his crossbow off his back. 

“I’ve got a crossbow aimed at you. I can’t see you too well, so I don’t know what I’ll hit, but believe me, I’ll hit something. So get up slowly.”

The man pulled his knees under him, and looked up. Light was dispersing into the morning, turning it from charcoal to a sort of blinding mist. Kris could make out dark hair splashed across the pale blur of his face. 

“I don’t know who you are, but you better put that thing down.”

Kris laughed out loud. The accent was ridiculously upper-class. “Get on your feet,” Kris told him, “Your Lordship.”

The guy lurched to a stand, looking down at Kris from an impressive height. “Lordship?” he asked, in a tone that made the title sound like an insult.

“It was a joke. What’s your name? Are you okay? Uh-uh-uh,” he raised the crossbow as the man started to move as if to walk away.

“Who ARE you?” the poacher snapped. There wasn’t the least amount of fear in his voice and Kris had to smile. The guy was battered, his hands were tied, there was a crossbow aimed at him, and he was cool and focused..

“I’m the King’s Gamekeeper,” Kris said mildly. “And you’re trespassing.”

“Gamekeeper,” the man said skeptically. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Do you trespass here often?”

“I am NOT trespassing,” the poacher informed him.

“I am so sorry,” Kris said sincerely. “I don’t mean to keep demeaning your status as a poacher. Now turn around, follow the fence till we get to a path that branches to the right, and take it.”

“No,” the man said in a nasty tone.

Kris’ brows lifted in surprise. “Well. Okay.”

Kris heard a smug snort.

“I guess I have to shoot you.”

Silence. But he was no groveler. Kris could see his chin go up, and even in the half-light Kris was pretty sure if eyes were crossbows he would’ve been shot twice. The man limped toward the path.

* * *

Adam ignored the pain in his body and searched for something he could use to turn this situation around. By the time they reached the edge of the woods he was desperate. The sun cleared the treetops and lit crystal fire on the windows of the castle. His father would be getting up.

He turned to face his captor. 

His eyes widened in surprise, and the words froze on his lips.

* * *

Kris followed his prisoner’s limping progress and wondered how someone with an accent like that ended up as a petty criminal. As they reached the clearing around the castle the darkness finally cracked wide, and when the prisoner turned around and the dawn light brought him clearly into view for the first time, Kris forgot the crossbow, forgot everything.

He was beautiful, but it was so far beyond that. He was regally tall and boyishly young, with a firm set to his jaw and a vulnerability in his eyes that turned Kris’s reasoning to dust. His brows angled down over his eyes like a bird of prey. His nose was aristocratic, his eyes were were the color of seafoam, and his mouth--

Kris was shocked at his body’s abrupt and unmistakable response. The man’s mouth was the most sensual thing Kris had ever seen. Kris took a deep breath and told himself to get a grip.

“You were on the bridge,” the guy said.

“What?”

“Yesterday. It was you.”

Kris mentally slapped himself back into focus. “I walked home after work, yeah. What were you doing?”

The guy broke his gaze. Shrugged.

“Checking out how to get over the fence? Working out the security on the royal grounds?”

“No, that was later.”

There was something else odd here. Then Kris realized: his clothes. Kris had been raised in a family where fabric was the subject of every other conversation. He never thought about it, but he could tell at a glance the material and cost of anyone’s clothing. And the man on the ground in front of him was expensively dressed. Very expensively dressed.

“I can get you more money than you’d make working at this job for the rest of your life.”

It cheapened the guy to hear the bribe offer coming from those lips. Kris was glad because it made it easier to deal with him.

“I’m serious. And I’ll keep my word. I can give you some money now, for good faith.”

“When I promised to do this job for the King, it wasn’t ‘until a better offer comes along.’ Let’s get going.”

His captive’s eyes narrowed just a little, and Kris could swear that there was something approving in his expression. Too many mysteries, this one. Kris was looking forward to finding out what his story was.

“You have a family? Think what you could do for them. Don’t you want to at least take a chance on helping them?”

“I want you to turn around and walk.” He lifted the crossbow.

“Please let me go.”

Kris was amazed to see the crossbow falter and lower. That simple plea had found a mark where bribery couldn’t. He shook his head. He would not forget his duty--

The man was already moving, back into the forest as quickly as his injured leg would allow.

“Stop! Stop right there!”

His pace didn’t alter.

So Kris shot him. He went down with only a gasp of surprise.

Fortunately for the guy, Kris hated killing things, human or otherwise, and all but a couple of his crossbow tips were bags tightly filled with sand. They hurt like hell, but unless one hit you in the head, you wouldn’t die.

Putting himself between the poacher and his escape route, Kris spoke without raising his voice. “All right, let’s go. No more bullshit. I do have steel arrows too.”

There were tears in the man’s eyes from the pain, and shock and even betrayal in his expression. Dammit. Kris actually felt bad. Which was ridiculous.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Kris told him. “The King doesn’t believe in cruel punishment.”

The poacher wiped his face with a sleeve and gave Kris an odd look. “We’d both better hope so.” He moved stiffly for the castle.

When Kris walked his prisoner into the Guardroom, the Captain of the Guards was eating breakfast and a half-dozen Guards were gathered around a table playing cards. They glanced up, and the next thing Kris knew, chairs were flying backward and men were on their feet.

With his crossbow carefully aimed at the poacher’s middle, Kris opened his mouth to explain the capture. But what he had been prepared to say was put on hold because people were bowing. 

The Captain quickly wiped grease from his mouth and stepped forward. “Your Highness.” He took in the bloody lip, bruised face and uneven stance. “What happened? Were you attacked?”

The Guards reached for swords. The poacher raised a brow and gave Kris a look that clearly said: fine, this is what you wanted, take it away.

All eyes went to Kris. “He was trespassing,” Kris said, but somehow it ended up sounding like a question.

The Captain looked at him incredulously. “How could the Prince be trespassing on his own family’s land?” He hurriedly worked to free the man’s hands. “Who tied you up, Your Highness?”

Another “now look what you’ve done” look in Kris’ direction. Everyone gaped at Kris, glanced at the man and then away.

“The...” Kris looked at the dark haired man. “That’s not the Prince.” But he knew. He almost thought he had known before it had been said.

“It most definitely is the Prince,” the Captain snapped. “And what are you doing with that crossbow? Are you insane?”

The, uh, Prince, cleared his throat. “I couldn’t sleep and went out for a walk. I probably should have stayed out of the forest, but you all keep the grounds so safe...” He glanced around appreciatively. The guards stood a little taller. “I’m still not sure how I managed it, but I got caught on the fence. I called for help, and this man was kind enough to free me. Unfortunately, things went downhill from there. Apparently he thinks I’m a poacher.”

Kris stared at him, trying to understand what was happening. He had an odd feeling that the room was filling with something and there wasn’t enough air.

“Your Highness, we’ll escort you back to--” His hand barely touched the Prince’s back, and he gasped and flinched. “Your Highness? What happened?”

The Prince was trying to gather his breath, so Kris stepped in with an explanation. “I shot him.” The Prince’s eyes widened, and he shook his head faintly.

The Captain looked at Kris like he’d never seen him before. “You what?”

“He tried go back into the forest.”

“I--” the Prince started. “That’s not--you know, I don’t think that’s really--I hurt my back on the fence.”

As a credible statement, it completely failed. The Captain glared at Kris. “Arrest him.”

The Guards ripped the bow out of his hands and grabbed him. As they manhandled him out of the room, Kris looked back and saw the Prince staring hard at the flagstones of the floor.

The cell was simply a box. The door was an iron grid, but other than that Kris was surrounded by pitted stone, grimy with age. He sat on the filthy floor with his knees drawn up to his chin.

He had gone from trusted servant of the King to the man who had attacked the heir to the kingdom. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t known whom he had captured, or that the Prince had completely failed to identify himself.

He would lose his job. Had already lost it, no doubt. Not only would he be unable to help his dad, the family would have to live with the humiliation of his imprisonment. It couldn’t be happening. But stink of the floor and the rough stone at his back were persistently real.

Steps outside. Kris looked up.

“Dad,” Kris said softly. And then lost his battle with tears.

Neil reached through the grid. “It’s okay, Son. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I thought he was a poacher. I thought I was doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Everybody knows you’re a good man,” his dad said. Tears leaked down his face too. “This is all gonna get cleared up.” But his dad’s trembling hands belied the confidence of his words. “I’m gonna ask to talk to the King. I know he’ll listen.”

“Dad--I don’t think you should. Let’s give it a little time. He might be...pretty mad now, and I don’t want him to take it out on you.”

“I don’t care. You don’t deserve to be here. It was a mistake. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Mr. Allen.” A Guard motioned Neil away from the cell. 

“You stay strong. It’ll be all right.” His voice sounded more hopeful than certain. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And Mom and Daniel.”

His dad hugged him through the grate, and left with his jaw clenched firmly shut.

Time passed. But with no change in the lantern light, no routines to mark, it was impossible to tell how much. Kris slept. And woke up afraid because he didn’t know where he was. Then more afraid because he remembered. They brought him food, but he couldn’t eat. 

* * *

Steps outside. A key in the lock. Kris sat up, blinded by a lantern and dazed from being in a half-sleep. A voice said, “On your feet. Let’s go.”

He stumbled into the hallway and was propelled along it. More Guards surrounded him. God, they think I’m that dangerous, he thought bitterly. Attempted royal murderer.

They marched along through passages he had never seen. No windows. We’re still underground. Stairs--here we go. Up he climbed, with his impressive retinue.

They exited into the light of day. It was clear but cold and looked like early afternoon. They headed for the castle.

What are we doing? Where are we going? He wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer. 

They marched into a side entrance and began to climb. On the next floor they crossed a wide landing and headed for a massive set of double doors, draped with banners: the Audience Chamber.

He was being taken to the King.

The doors swung open heavily, and he was herded in. The King was on his feet talking with a man Kris recognized as Sheriff Carlton, who was describing some kind of raid on a village. The King gave some instructions about patrols, and the Sheriff left quickly. 

Finally the King walked over to a surprisingly simple throne, sat down, and fixed Kris with a cold, blue look.

“Kristopher Allen, your Highness,” said the head Guard.

The King just stared with that confident, almost insolent, look of those who need conform to nothing. His fingers drummed the arm of the throne. “You shot my son.”

Kris felt a tremor run through him. He stood straight. “Yes, Your Highness.” Should he explain? Should he say more? “I’m sorry.”

“I’m impressed.”

Kris blinked. “You...what?”

The King regarded him. “You wouldn’t even consider a bribe. When confronted with the situation, you’re honest--maybe too honest. And you found a way to stop him without doing him permanent damage. What kind of arrow tip was that?”

“Uh. Sand, your Highness. A small amount of sand in a bag.”

“Is that what all your arrows are? Why don’t you use steel tips?”

“I--um--I have a steel points. But I usually--I’d rather not kill something if I don’t have to. Usually the sand will do what I need to do.”

“Hmm. That’s ingenious.” The King looked at the Guard commander. “Tell Captain Durrigan I want to talk to him about these, about maybe using them for the Guards, for some circumstances.” Back to Kris. “You performed your responsibilities exceptionally well.”

Kris licked his lips. This was even stranger than what he’d been anticipating. “I--uh.”

“If you didn’t use such innovative weaponry, it could have been a very bad day,” the King brushed an imaginary speck of dirt off the mahogany throne. “And we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation. But my son put himself in a position to be mistaken for a trespasser. And we have a serious flaw in our security operations if everyone working on the grounds doesn’t know what key people look like. We’ll be addressing that. I’m glad it was pointed out in a way that wasn’t more catastrophic.”

“How--” Kris suddenly realized he was addressing the King. He didn’t think he was supposed to talk, only respond.

“Go on,” the King said.

“How did you know what happened? I didn’t think anybody saw it.”

The King looked at him in distant surprise. “My son told me.”

Add another shock to the day’s total.

“He’s actually a good person,” the King said with a kind of wry sadness. “He grew up with a lot of luxuries, but not the one of a normal childhood. He’s always been controlled, and he doesn’t know how to control himself. But he will. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”

The King cocked his head at Kris. “People think very highly of you. They say you’re strong, kind, honest, and they like you as a person.” He paused. “I thought of trading Adam in for you, but I decided it wouldn’t be fair to your father.”

Kris knew he must look like an astonished fish, but he couldn’t move or respond.

“So, in the long tradition of the punishment of virtue, I have a special reward for you.” The King’s blue eyes sparkled over a smile that was just this side of wicked. “In thanks for the exceptional performance of your duties, I’m creating a special position for you.”

“Your Highness, there’s no--I don’t--”

“There’s no escaping.” The smirk on the King’s face looked vaguely familiar. “We’ll call this a  
promotion. Your salary will be doubled. Your new responsibilities will require you to live at the castle. You’ll have the day to collect whatever you need from home, and you’ll start this evening. Let’s make your new title...Royal Security Officer.”

“I don’t really know much about--”

“It’s not so far from Gamekeeper, actually,” the King said musingly. “Your responsibilities are simple: ensure that my son stays safe. And,” he spoke with careful emphasis, “that he does not leave the castle grounds.”

Kris’ mouth dropped open. The King smiled. Kris didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so pleased with themselves.

* * *

When Kris climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to his family’s living quarters, the pitch of his mother’s scream almost flung him back out the door.

“Kristopher!” She seemed to levitate across the room to lock him in her arms. His dad was palming tears from his face, and even Daniel was blinking a little too much.

“I’m fine, Mama. I’m fine.”

“In prison. My baby.”

“I knew it’d be all right,” his dad lied.

Daniel pounded him on the shoulder, verifying that he wasn’t an hallucination. “They let you go!”

“Yeah. The King was pretty nice.”

“The King!”

Kris winced at the return of the scream. “Mama!”

“You talked to the King? Himself?”

“Yeah. I got a, uh, promotion.” He told them what the King had said.

Everyone was dead silent. Daniel finally spoke. “So if he tries to run away again, what’re you gonna shoot him with this time?”

* * *

Adam descended the stairs as if taking them cautiously would help protect him in the upcoming interview. The King wanted to see him again. During the conversation when he had explained what happened between he and Kris, the King had barely spoken a word, just listened, then called for the doctor to patch up his injuries. But now he had sent for Adam, and it took an effort of will to keep himself moving toward that door.

The room was empty except for the King, seated in the big old chair his used for a throne. He looked tired and frowned at a letter in his hand. He put it aside when he saw Adam.

There was no invitation to sit down. Nothing in the world was as cold as his father’s eyes when he was displeased.

“The doctor says no more hanging from fences for at least a week.”

There was no reply to make to that, and Adam made none.

“I’m going to assume that you weren’t trying to get back to the University to make sure you didn’t miss any exams. So why were you going?”

Adam’s heart pounded a little harder. He took a deep breath and went for it. “To see someone.” Someone who’s everything. Someone magical. Someone I love. He couldn’t say any of those things to his father.

“Bradley Bell?” the King asked. “Really, you’re surprised? You’re the Crown Prince, Adam. I needed to know everything about what kind of trouble you’d gotten into. His name came up a lot.”

“I love him.” He said it.

“Ah,” said the King, and in that syllable managed to convey both understanding and distaste.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I love him. I want to be with him more than I want to take my next breath. He’s the most amazing, beautiful, unbelievable man I’ve ever met. What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything. He’s not acceptable to me.”

“His family--”

“No one who’s part of helping you lie, cheat and completely abandon your studies is acceptable to me. The people you surround yourself with have to make you better, not lesser.”

“Well, we made a mistake. Okay, a lot of mistakes. But I’ll do better, and so will he. People do learn,” he threw out the title that had caused so many problems in their relationship, “Your Majesty.” 

A flicker of a bitter smile reached his father’s face before he smoothed it. “From what I understand, Mr. Bell has withstood the difficulty of your separation very well and isn’t the least bit interested in moderating his behavior.”

Adam felt the blood leave his face. “What--does that mean?”

“Adam, I don’t want to hurt you--”

“What does that mean,” Adam shouted, “Your Majesty?”

His father stood up. As tall as Adam was, the King was taller. His eyes glinted ice.

“Whom you think you are in love with, Prince--” He always referred to Adam by his name, but now he wielded the title as a weapon, as Adam had to him. “--is a matter of little concern. You will have many things in your day, but choosing a life companion based on love is unlikely to be one of them.”

He paused for a beat, holding Adam with his stare. Adam tried furiously not to let the impact of his words show.

“Since you are currently bent on a course detrimental to your own welfare, I’ve ordered the Gamekeeper who brought you back home to protect you from the effects of your own decisions. Until further notice, unless accompanied by Mr. Allen, you are to remain on the castle grounds. Please close the door on your way out.”

* * *

In his room, Adam sat on his bed, back against the wall. He was very, very still. Whatever else his conversation with his father had achieved, his resolve to get back to Brad had been forged into iron. He was going. As soon as he could. As fast as he could.

On his way back up to the castle, Kris stopped by The Toad. Allison wasn’t around, so he left her a note.

_Ally,_

_I don’t think I’ll be able to make the Saturday shows for a while.  
I’ll explain when I see you. Sorry._

_Love and stuff,_

_Kris_

 

Back at the castle, Kris found a maid who was able to tell him where the Prince’s rooms were, which was the very top of the tallest tower. Of course. As he went round and round up the stone staircase he thought it was no wonder the Prince had such great legs.

He stopped, and the sound of his last scuffed step echoed up the tower. That kind of thinking was definitely not going to work. The Crown Prince was so far out of his league he might as well be on a different planet. As a matter of fact, lascivious thoughts about the royal person could very possibly land Kris back in his least favorite prison cell.

“You really need a boyfriend,” he muttered and resumed scaling the stairs.

The stairs ended at a wide landing. At the end was a tall door with an inlaid wood pattern and fine lines of silver scrollwork. It was a Prince’s door if he’d ever seen one, which actually he hadn’t.

Kris took a deep breath. He and the Prince hadn’t gotten off to the best start, and Kris’ new assignment probably wasn’t going to help. He felt himself start to panic. Before he could turn and run, he knocked loudly on the door.

* * *

Pounding on his door snapped Adam out of his thoughts. What the hell? He was across the room in two strides and yanked the door open.

It was that cute Gamekeeper. Who had shot him. A tartan shirt stretched across strong shoulders, gliding to a narrow waist. It was Adam’s first look at him in full light and while he wasn’t in debilitating pain. With his come-fuck-me lips, bashful eyes and muscular arms the little guy was like a sex fantasy come to life. 

Gone was the easy confidence, the amused smile. He wore a look Adam had come to know at University: an expression marked more by fear than anything else. It meant the person wasn’t seeing Adam at all, just the title. Once he’d gotten used to it he’d learned to use it, and it generally amused him to see it on people. But he didn’t like it on the Gamekeeper at all. It debased him, undermined his beauty and his strength.

“I...I’m Kris Allen.” A little bow. “Your Highness.”

He paused, waiting for a response. Adam just stared at him expressionlessly, arm still extended, holding the door. His feelings about his visitor were mixed, and they were extreme, but none of them involved talking.

“The King--I mean, your father--um.” Kris raised his chin and looked Adam in the eye. “The King has assigned me to your personal security.”

Adam couldn’t quite stop the little smile that twisted his mouth. “I feel so much safer now.”

The Gamekeeper--Kris?--bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s feeling better?”

“What do you think?”

Kris glanced away for a minute then met his eyes. “Prison wasn’t much fun either,” he said quietly.

In that small sentence he addressed Adam equal to equal. And THAT was unusual. Curiosity flared to life. He studied this increasingly interesting man.

“Come in,” he said.

Kris looked a question. And Adam liked that too, the way he met his eyes directly, asking what was going on.

Adam smiled distantly. He would keep his advantage, thank you. Kris read his wordless reply and dropped his head quickly. Adam took him in appreciatively as he walked by. 

* * *

The short entranceway led straight to the Prince’s bedroom. The chamber was nowhere as big as Kris would’ve expected, but he was struck by the beauty of color and texture. A mirror framed in copper and silver reflected light from a gallery of tall windows. Everywhere, the softness of tapestries contrasted with the hewn stone walls. A tapestry with the pattern of the Prince’s device hung above the bed, which lay under a silk (470 crowns per yard) cover patterned with blue-green celtic knots against a black background. The room smelled faintly of pine smoke and cinnamon.

He turned to find the Prince leaning against the arch of the entryway, elegant hands absently rolling the rings on his hand, the lines of his legs traveling up and up. His lips had a natural pout that sparked in Kris like flint on stone. 

Kris snapped his mouth closed and swallowed. He had to get a grip. But he’d never seen a man like this. He had no experience, no defense against something so exotic, so intense.

The Prince pushed away from the wall and stalked slowly toward him. It was the sexiest thing Kris had ever seen, and his heart jerked in his body. The Prince didn’t stop until the fabric of his shirt (linen and silk, 230 crowns per yard) brushed Kris with each breath and the warmth of his body blocked the draft of the room.

Kris knew it was a challenge, a test, maybe an offer, and probably a trick. He wanted to jump back. He wanted to grab the body under that shirt and and crush himself against the sensual male animal in front of him. Somehow he had to do neither. He had to walk the middle, to control himself and somehow the situation.

He looked up into the Prince’s eyes. And yes, it was there, along with everything else he suspected, there was want. That was what he needed to know. He had some chips in this game.

“Hi,” he said, in most innocent voice.

He could feel the Prince’s body shudder in an uneven exhale, then he was laughing openly, fingertips lightly brushing under Kris’ chin as he stepped away. And Kris’ hand did not twitch in a desire to pull him back. Not much anyway.

“So,who are you?” 

“I’m--”

“Kris Allen, yeah. What’s a Kris Allen? Where are you from?”

“Itchwich.”

“Why have I never seen you?”

“Because...you never come into the town?”

There was a brief silence, and the very faintest tightening of the Prince’s mouth. “I wasn’t allowed to go into town. So who is your family? What is it you do when you’re in Itchwich?” The Prince draped himself across a velvet (upholstery-grade, 325 crowns per yard) chair and regarded Kris insolently. There was no invitation to sit.

“Um. My parents grew up here too. My dad’s a textile merchant, my mom’s a seamstress. My brother’s an idiot.”

“Really? So’s mine.”

Two servants arrived with Kris’ trunk. The Prince regarded it with surprise.

“What rooms are you staying in?”

“The King said,” Kris cleared his throat, “I was to stay with you.”

The servants quietly backed out of the room and were gone like rabbits to cover.

The Prince looked at Kris, then looked at the bed. His brows rose.

“The King said he would send a cot.”

The Prince made an “Mmmm” that was distinctly disappointed, and Kris swallowed. Somewhere deep in the castle a bell sounded, and the Prince stood up. “You can tell me the rest at dinner. That’s the first bell. Time to change.”

“Change?” Kris said.

The Prince had been heading for a curtained doorway. He stopped and turned. “We dress for dinner.”

“We?” Kris realized who the Prince must mean. “Oh, no. That’s okay. I’ll just eat--”

“No,” the Prince said in a voice that did not invite discussion, “you won’t.” The faintest hint of amusement and malice glinted in his eyes before he strode away.

Ten minutes later Kris stood in front of the entire contents of his trunk, trying not to cry.

“Wow,” said a voice from behind his shoulder. “Tartan comes in so many colors. Who knew?”

Kris turned to him desperately. “Can I wear any of these?”

“I guess. I’ll loan you a jacket.” The Prince looked over the shirts and picked one up. “I think this would--” He gave the shirt a little shake and stared at the seams, fingered the button holes, then deftly turned it inside out. “Where did you get this?”

“My mom made it. She made all of them.” At the Prince’s puzzled look, “She’s a seamstress?” Kris reminded him.

“Huh.” He picked up another shirt, shook it out, watched the way it hung, turned it around, studied the tailoring. Suddenly he looked blank. “Your mom made these. For you.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Kris thought he should say something. “Yeah?”

The Prince seemed to try and process this and suddenly couldn’t meet Kris’ eyes. “Wear any of them. You don’t need a jacket.”

* * * 

Dinner was the most excruciating experience of Kris’ life. A party of dignitaries had just departed, another was arriving tomorrow morning, but this evening Kris sat at the table with the King at his left, the Queen at his right and the Crown Prince across from him, and no one else. He concentrated on breathing and reminding himself that monarchs were just people, like anyone else. Right. The King and Queen were having a conversation that had been ongoing when they joined the table and centered around the best week to host a visiting member of the royal family of the neighboring kingdom. The King had said “Hello,” and the Queen glanced at him once as she sat down, a surprised sweep of her eyes taking him in and dismissing him. 

“His name is Kris,” the Prince said at a break in the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” his mother said.

“Our guest. His name is Kris.” The Prince’s tone was biting.

“If something’s bothering you, you should say what it is instead of using Kris as an excuse to be contentious,” the King said quietly. None of them looked at Kris as they spoke, which was weird but the feeling of invisibility it gave him was welcome.

“Fine. I’m not a child, and the idea of confining me for my protection is absurd. I’m not running away. I will be back. But I’m going to see my boyfriend and talk to him, and hopefully bring him back here, eventually. I have a life that is my own, and I’m not going to be controlled.”

“I wish,” the King said, “you were mature enough to do that. But apparently you’re not.” 

“Well, thank you. I don’t know what you expect from me since I’ve basically been chained to a wall since I was born.”

“Oh, Adam, please, spare us the drama.” The Queen turned back to her husband. “We were talking about something important.” And she resumed the conversation.

Kris’ eyes flicked to the Prince, whose face was blank.

Back upstairs the Prince laid down quietly on his bed and remained there, silent and nearly motionless, for almost an hour. Kris put his things away in a cabinet that was assigned him and now sat on his bed with absolutely no idea what to do.

“Um. I’m gonna walk into town and get my guitar. If I’m gonna be here a while, I’d like to have it. If you don’t mind if I play sometimes?” 

Interested blue eyes were viewing him, and Kris felt a little easier, seeing the blank mask gone from his face.

“So you play? Do you sing? What kind of music do you like?” The Prince sat up. “I wanted to learn the piano, but I’m too impatient. But I love to sing. Will you play for me?”

“Um. Sure.”

“Great.” The Prince bounced up. “Let’s go get the guitar.”

“You’re coming?”

“Well I’d rather not sit around here. Let’s go out. We can ride.”

“I don’t--I don’t ride. We don’t have a horse.”

“Well I’ll pick you quiet one. Wait, I have to choose an outfit!” And he was off, into a room Kris presumed was a closet.

Kris covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh my God.”

A full moon lit the road as they walked the horses down to the gates of the grounds. The Prince was riding a bay mare he called La Tempête, so light-footed she seemed not to touch the earth, and Kris had been mounted on a glorified pony who planted each foot so solidly it seemed to be his last step.

In the silver light, a pennant at the gate fluttered and snapped, and Kris’ horse barely twitched an ear, but Tempête veered and sprang. The Prince sat the maneuver like nothing had happened, spun the horse around and put her through the gate. Kris clapped his heels against his horse’s sides like the wings of a goose trying to get airborne, and finally the evil little creature snorted and broke into a jarring trot.

The Prince and his flying horse were waiting for them just outside the gate, and as Kris’ butt repeatedly was flung up and down out of the saddle he could see the Prince’s shoulders shaking with laughter.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Kris gasped.

The Prince wiped tears from his eyes. “That is the best thing that’s happened to me in a week. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” Kris snapped, slumping forward as the horse abruptly dropped into a plodding walk.

“It’s Adam,” the Prince said.

“Right now it’s asshole.”

Kris couldn’t see his expression, but the Prince turned in the saddle. “Did you call me an asshole?”

“I’m sorry, did I not pronounce it clearly enough?”

There was a little pause, and then the Prince threw his head back and laughed. The part of Kris that wasn’t hurting noted he had a beautiful laugh.

“Oh my God, and cute to boot.” Kris could see the gleam of a smile.

They rode side by side, Kris urging his horse to move faster, and the Prince holding his back. Hooves made mellow sounds on the earth, and the wood smoke from fireplaces in town laced in and out of the evening air. Kris tried not to notice the easy way the Prince’s body matched the motion of the horse, keeping in balance as if they were one, or the cut of his profile against the night sky. But he felt his breath being drawn away, and a thrill he no way wanted running through him.

The streets were nearly empty, and unless they happened to be under a lamp and someone got close enough to see the Prince’s device in the clasp at his neck, no one would have any idea who Kris was riding with. As they rode up to the Toad, the sound of a guitar and Allison singing floated out.

Kris must have made a sound, because the Prince said, “What?”

“I guess they’re playing without me.”

“You play at the tavern here?” The Prince looked at the Toad’s door as if it were a fascinating and unusual object.

“Usually just Saturday nights,” Kris said, climbing awkwardly off the surly little horse, who tried to bite him as he stepped down. “But it sounds like they’re playing tonight.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” The Prince made a move like a dancer and was dismounted. He tied both horses to tethering rings with some kind of special knot.

“Allison and Tommy. You, uh, wouldn’t know them.”

“Mmm.”

The Prince was in a green and black wool (135 crowns/yard) riding coat, and the buttons were obviously real silver. His boots and gloves were tooled with silver, and his black riding pants fit him like a velvety skin. He would stand out in the Toad like a Thoroughbred in a donkey herd.

“Why don’t you just kind of wait by the door, and I’ll get the guitar. I don’t really want to interrupt the performance or anything.”

The Prince was wearing an expression that could only be described as a pout. “Why don’t you use my name? And why are you embarrassed to have your friends meet me? Is there something wrong with me?”

Kris’ mouth moved into an “o” shape, which matched his eyes. “No! It’s just--” It’s just that you’re the flipping Prince, and this is really awkward, he didn’t say.

The Prince tucked his gloves into his belt and folded his arms. “Fine. Go get your guitar.”

Kris took a step. “You won’t go anywhere?”

“I promise I won’t run away while you’re in there.”

Kris considered that. For some reason he believed him. “Okay. Well. I’ll be right back.” And he slipped through the door.

It was a little more crowded than usual for a weeknight, and Kris noticed a group of unfamiliar faces at one table. They were laughing loudly and wore the unfinished leather of the northern clans. Occasionally they hooted at Allison, singing on stage.

Kris tried to sidle along the wall to reach the cabinet where his guitar was stored without being noticed. He was halfway there when Allison’s song ended in an excited yelp and, “KRIS!”

Every eye followed Allison’s stare and landed on him. He lifted a hand. “Hey.”

Daniel jumped up from a table, Allison skipped along the stage, looking for a place to jump down, and people were rising from their seats. It was ridiculous.

“I’m just--I can’t stay--”

And he was surrounded by people. Allison was hugging him, and Daniel was smirking, Tommy clapping him on the back. From the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of green slip through into the room. 

“I heard they put you in prison!”

“Is it true?”

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

“Damn son of a bitch prince. Never did a day of work in his life, puts you in prison for doing your job.” 

“That’s--don’t say that. I’m fine.”

He searched for the green coat, but it had vanished.

“It’s the truth, man.”

“I’m fine, you guys. Thank you, really. But I just came to get my guitar. And you shouldn’t say things like that about Prince Adam.”

“He’d better not show his face around here.” There were murmurs of agreement.

The Northerners were watching the whole scene with tipsy amusement.

“Sing something, Kris!” Allison said, hanging onto his arm.

“The guitar’s not here,” Tommy told him. “I took it to your parents’ house cause I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

“Just sing one song,” Allison pleaded. “Tommy’ll play.”

“Hey, who’s that?” someone said, with a jerk of the head toward a quiet figure in a green coat.

“Uh, yeah,” Kris said quickly. “I’ll sing something. What do you want to hear?” He moved to the stage, drawing their interest. Leave, he thought. Go now, while I’ve got them distracted. You shouldn’t be here. 

Song titles were shouted out. After a quick exchange with Tommy, they started one of Kris’ songs.

* * *

“He’d better not show his face around here.”

Adam had come inside to see what the tavern was like and introduce himself to Kris’ friends, whether Kris wanted him to or not. Now he watched those friends gather round Kris, holding out their hands and their hearts to him in the injustice he’d received. And he listened to the contempt in their voices when they spoke about him. He wasn’t surprised really. How could there be anything but distance between him and these people when all they knew about him was that he had a title and all the privilege that came with it.

But knowing it was reasonable didn’t take away the sting, or keep him from feeling even more isolated than usual. He longed for Brad, who saw him for who he was, not what he was, and who loved him unconditionally. He was leaving tonight to go to Brad, and this time Kris would not stop him.

He was lost in thought when the song started. His head came up in surprise. It was Kris, and his voice--his voice was beautiful. More than beautiful, it was strong. And kind. And clever. It was warm and rich and male and--

He closed his mouth and watched in wonder as that delicious voice traveled over him like a river.

Kris looked so much like Brad, yet there was something...something essentially different. He watched the way Kris moved when he sang and tried to pinpoint exactly what it was.

Before he could puzzle it out, the song was over and people were clapping and whooping. And as Adam watched Kris duck his head modestly and smile his gorgeous smile he felt something twist inside him.

Oh no, he was NOT going to be infatuated with this inconvenient, although undeniably adorable, man. He was already in love with someone perfect.

His eyes refused to listen to this and fixed on Kris’ hands, powerful but gentle. His lashes lay against his cheeks as he looked down and the urge, even across the room, to kiss that mouth, was startlingly powerful.

“Oh my God,” someone gasped.

And in an amazingly short period of time, the room went silent. Kris looked up, and his eyes widened, shifting around the room. Adam looked too, and realized--

\--everyone was staring at him. Sibilant hisses of “prince” whipped like snakes through the gathering.

He gave them a small smile and nod. “I’m Adam.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

The blonde guy who’d been playing guitar while Kris sang glanced at Kris. One of the Northerners shifted in his seat for a better look.

“That’s the son of a bitch, huh?” His table laughed.

Adam merely lifted a brow. There were a thousand things an average person knew that he didn’t. But one thing he had been trained for was how to react in the face of provocation. His face was serene, and he stood tall and still.

A broad-shouldered young man strode up to him.

“Daniel!” Kris said sharply and jumped down from the stage. 

“I don’t care who you are. You hurt my brother, you’re gonna be sorry,” snapped the man, apparently named Daniel and apparently Kris’ brother.

“Yeah, get ‘im, man,” came from the Northerners’ table, along with more laughter.

“Kris is worth ten of you--” 

Whatever else he was going to say was lost as Kris spun him around. “That’s enough.”

Kris put himself between Adam and the crowd. “This is Prince Adam.” His voice was a little defiant. “He’s a good guy. You shouldn’t make up your opinions about people based on rumors.”

Adam looked at him with surprise and smiled inwardly as Kris’ powers of oratory left him as quickly as they had come and he stared mutely around. “Thank you,” Adam said quietly.

Kris grabbed him by the arm, and marched him outside.

* * *

He was trying to think of what to say to the Prince when Daniel burst out the door behind him. Kris grabbed his shirt, but Daniel said, “I’m gonna go warn mom and dad.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He let go, and Daniel took off.

The Prince -- somehow inside the inn he’d become “Adam” -- was already mounted of course. How did he do that? “Warn?” he said with a lift of those perfect brows.

“Yeah, warn.” Kris hauled himself up on the pony like a sack of potatoes lifting itself onto a wagon--assuming the wagon could sidestep and bite at the same time.

“We need to work on your horsemanship.”

“No, we need to work on you,” Kris fixed him with a glare, “following instructions.”

Adam gave the mare some invisible cue and she moved smoothly sideways and brought them stirrup to stirrup. He set her forward a step and his thigh was pressed against Kris’.

“You have some instructions?” Adam said in a soft, low voice.

Kris was suddenly short of breath. His heart was pounding. Oh hell.

“What would you like me to do?” Adam went on in a voice like velvet. Gloved fingers came up under his chin.

“Nothing,” Kris said firmly. Except that it came out like a gasp. And then there was an arm around his waist, and a mouth on his, and his whole body seemed to leave control of his brain. He kissed back, unable not to, Adam’s mouth hot and sweet.

And then the pony snaked his neck at the mare’s haunch and she lashed out, and their riders were jolted apart.

Kris scrambled to gather reins he had apparently dropped, while Adam sat his fidgeting horse effortlessly and stared into the dark with an odd, spooked expression.

Kris choked his voice clear. “This way.” He clapped his heels against the pony and set him in motion.

* * *

Both lanterns outside the shop door had been lit, and Kris’ mom and dad were standing on the front step, looking absolutely terrified. Kris sighed.

“Please be nice to them. Please.”

Adam gave a short, disgusted exhale and shook his head. That either meant: I Scoff At Your Pleading, They Will Suffer For Your Sins. Or What Kind of an Asshole Do You Think I Am?

Before he could decide which, Adam had pulled up La Tempête and swung off. Kris’ mom started to go to her knees, but Adam caught her hands and lifted her.

“Your Highness--”

“Adam. Please, Mrs. Allen.”

Kris’ dad mouth opened but no sound emerged. He made a deep bow.

“Sir,” Adam said and sent an impatient look at Kris, who was trying to get off the damn pony. He jerked his near foot out of the stirrup and hopped to the ground with a resounding thump.

“Mom, Dad, this is Prince Adam. Adam--” He stumbled only briefly at the gleam in the Prince’s eyes when he spoke his name. “--these are my parents, Kim and Neil.”

“Your Highness,” Neil found his voice. “We’re honored.”

“The honor is mine. Your son is a man of unusual integrity. And a very good shot,” Adam added thoughtfully.

“Oh my Lord.” Kim covered her face with a hand and Adam laughed. “I’m especially pleased to meet the woman who tailored his clothes. I have to admit to being envious of their quality.”

“Oh!” Kim blushed. “Well you’re too kind.”

Daniel came out of the doorway in a rush, holding the guitar.

“Oh, and this is--” Kim began.

“--Daniel,” Adam finished, flashing Daniel a wolfish smile that gave Kris a shiver. It suddenly came back to him how powerful the man in front of him really was. He needed to get him away from his family as quickly as he could.

Kris took the guitar. “Okay, well, thanks. I’ll see you all--”

“I love the detail you put in the collars and the way you run that extra row of stitching down the placket.”

“Why thank you. It makes the shirt hold its structure a lot better, and I think it gives it a nicer look.”

“Oh, it definitely does. I mean, even with the tartan you can see it.”

“Oh, that darn tartan. He won’t wear anything else. I have tried and tried.”

Both of them staring at Kris, shaking their heads.

“Such a good looking guy, too,” Adam said.

“He is, isn’t he?” his mom puffed with a sly little glance at Adam, who grinned.

“Would you have any time--I mean, do you take commissions? I would really like to have you make me something.”

“Oh, Honey, I would love to.”

Honey? All three of the Allen men’s eyes grew slowly round and swiveled to meet each other. Something had just slipped their control.

“I don’t want any special treatment. I’ll wait behind other clients and pay full rates, obviously.”

“You’ll pay nothing at all. It’d be a pleasure to do it for such a sweet young man.” Kim beamed and her hand cupped Adam’s cheek lightly.

None of them looked more surprised than Adam, who gazed at Kim as if she had descended from the air on the shoulders of angels. 

Her hand dropped away and she looked Adam up and down. “Prince Adam. Would you like to come in and have some tea and nut bread?”

Was that a shy look Adam was aiming at her? “I love nut bread,” he confided.

She took his arm. “Come on, Sweetie.”

Adam handed his reins to Daniel. “You mind?” And went inside.

“Oh. My. God.” Daniel said.

“He--” their dad cleared his throat. “--seems nice?” He hurried through the door after his wife and the future King.

“Here.” Kris shoved his reins at Daniel dove after them.

Inside, he nearly slammed into Adam because he was stopped dead three steps inside the door, his smile beatific. His fingertips played along a roll of gold brocade. Blue satin, cream damask, silver cord. His eyes moved from one to another, hands greedily following.

“Oh. It is pretty, isn’t it?” Kim gave him a proud little smile. “Neil is a fabric merchant. I’m sure you knew that.”

He glanced at Kris and dropped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him up against his side. “Kris told me. That’s fantastic.” He flashed a quick, admiring glance at Neil, who tried unsuccessfully to hide a pleased smile.

It was difficult trying to stand so close to Adam with his arm between them, so he slipped it around Adam’s waist and felt a squeeze of approval in return. Adam was solid and tall, and feeling that body against his was making his pulse pound, but it was all unreal. He had no business laying hands on royalty. Adam had no business playing with him like this. It was not a real world possibility that they could have a serious relationship, and any kind of entanglement could only mean disaster for Kris. He to keep perspective, and when they were alone set some boundaries. 

“Would you--could I have a tour, Mr. Allen?”

“Oh, call me Neil.”

“Neil,” Prince Adam flashed that brilliant smile, and Neil and Kim blinked.

“Well, the different fabric types are in different sections...”

And so they went, through the aisles, his dad pointing out the various differences in the merchandise, and Prince Adam ooing and ahhing. The thing was, it seemed genuine, and given the Prince’s devotion to wardrobe, he may have actually been as thrilled as he seemed.

As they came down the last aisle, Kris made a desperate move. He slipped free of the imprisoning arm and cut in front of the Prince. “You know, I don’t think we have time for tea now.” He grabbed the royal triceps and turned him toward the door.

Or would have, if the Adam had moved.

Three pair of eyes stared at him. His mom glanced uncertainly at Adam. “Oh, well...”

“Why not?” said the Prince-Adam-of-the-Unmoving-Feet.

“Don’t you have...princey things to do?”

Adam raised a brow. “I want some nut bread.”

Kim beamed. Adam smiled and offered her his now unencumbered arm.

They went up the narrow stairs to the upper floor.

The rooms had never seemed so small. Part of it was the tall prince, whose head only missed the ceiling by a couple of inches. But more than that it was his presence, filling the room like a lightning flash that had chosen to remain rather than fade.

Kris had seen the castle, the massive tapestries, the etched glass, ornate ironwork and marble statuary. He knew how his home looked in comparison, but if Adam felt contempt he was exceptionally adept at hiding it. Maybe he didn’t feel it at all. Kris was beginning to think that Adam was someone he actually liked very much and watched him take a seat on an ancient wooden chair that was usually Neil’s, his absurdly long legs occupying their own county. 

“I’ll fix tea then?” Kim asked.

Adam looked up at her with innocent blue-green-gray--Kris wanted to stare at them long enough to decide what color they really were--eyes. “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

Daniel sidled through the door, and Kris interrogated him with a quick, hard look. Where were the horses?

“Cale has them.”

With Daniel was in the room too, hunched on a trunk in the corner, it was ridiculous. Adam and Neil were now talking seriously about thread count.

“But it isn’t just the number--”

“No, absolutely not,” Neil agreed. “The way the thread is spun determines the smoothness of the fabric. Look--” He held out a swatch for Adam to examine.

The two of them went on as if they were discussing world peace, until suddenly Kim was there with tea and--

“Nut bread!” Adam exclaimed like an excited five year-old.

Kim’s nut bread was delicious, but it really didn’t warrant Adam’s--Prince Adam’s--level of awe. He was making sounds that--well, were disconcerting.

He finally stopped moaning and looked up and purred, “Mrs. Allen, if you weren’t married--”

Kim blushed. “Oh, you are too sweet, Honey. It’s nothing special, but it’s made with love.”

Something cracked in Prince Adam’s expression. It was just a moment, and Kris was totally imagining it, but it felt like he was looking into an empty space.

Then the grin was back, like a mask.

“Anyway,” Kim continued, “I think Kris is more your type.”

Kris tried to express his outrage but only managed to inhale a crumb, which after a brief cough left him completely silent.

“Hmmm.” Prince Adam snaked his tongue delicately along the tines of his fork, removing the last, moist bits, eyes on Kris. Then he shook himself and straightened. “Actually, I’m engaged. Well, pretty much.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Kim exclaimed. “Are you going to announce it soon? Is it--should we keep it a secret?”

“Well, we haven’t said we’re going to get married. But...it’s understood.”

“I’m so happy for you. Let me know when you choose your wedding colors, and I’ll sew you a little something.”

Kris couldn’t explain why, but the room had dimmed, as if the lightning flash was retreating to its magical origin in the sky.

* * *

Kim and Daniel gathered up the empty plates, and Adam tried to recapture the quiet joy he’d been feeling. But the fun of his visit to the Allens gone. He was running away tonight. He wouldn’t be coming back tomorrow to place his custom order with Kim or walk through the canyons of fabric in Neil’s shop. He wouldn’t be flirting with their Kristopher. 

He snuck a look at Kris, who seemed lost in some melancholy of his own. This completely unexpected, beautiful man who’d been living right under his nose the whole time he was growing up. They could have been friends. They could have been--

Why was it so hard to picture Brad? And when he did, why did he look so arrogant, so smug? Was Adam really so superficial he had let physical attraction to some hot guy displace a love he had promised forever?

“I’m afraid I have to go.” He stood up, and everyone was instantly on their feet. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He shook Neil’s hand.

“It was too much honor, Your Highness.”

Guilt stabbed Adam with the knowledge of what he was about to do to their son. “I wish it was.” He was out of the room before anyone could answer.

As Adam mounted La Tempête, Kim came into the lantern light and patted the ankle of his boot, and he had the sudden feeling that she understood him entirely too well.

“You can come here any time.”

He stared at her.

“I’m always here.”

He couldn’t speak.

“Could I ask you a favor?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Take care of Kristopher.”

He shook his head vaguely. Backed the horse up. “I can’t,” he said. And spun and was off at a canter. He heard a gasp and a grunt, and Kris’ pony broke into a run behind him.

Adam stopped at the edge of town, and Kris caught up in a surprisingly short time. His little horse was a lazy monster, but he could really move if you made him. He’d been Adam’s when he was younger, and you could always trust him to get you where he needed to go, sometimes even quickly.

Part of Adam noted how Kris was already adapting to the saddle, sitting the horse’s hard stop and keeping his balance. The boy was athletic. That body didn’t lie.

“I’m really sorry.”

“For taking off? For giving me this midget horse? For what?”

God, he was beautiful. The moonlight skated off his cheekbones, and his mouth was a dark, soft blur. But it was so much more than his looks. There was a depth, a warmth, a strength Adam had never seen before. And it made him want to wrap himself around this man, to take refuge in that strength and never let go. He drove La Tempête forward till his face was nearly touching Kris’. Kris eyes flickered, and the desire Adam saw there went straight to his cock. He grabbed the back of Kris’ neck and crushed their mouths together.

When he released them he was dizzy. Kris' head hung and his shoulders slumped, as if Adam had gone round his defenses and shattered that amazing strength. “Please don’t do this to me,” he said softly.

“I can’t help it,” Adam said. Kris looked up, and Adam’s heart twisted to see tears on his face. Tears. Could Kris actually have feelings for him, actually care beyond the sexual attraction he knew they had? 

It didn’t matter. He’d made a promise.

“I have to go.”

“All right.”

“What?”

“I want you to go.”

“Why?”

“Because--” Kris sighed and laughed quietly, “--I want you to be happy. And I want you to be loved.” He looked away at that.

Adam stared at him, incomprehending. “My dad will fire you,” he said roughly.

Kris shrugged. “I can’t hurt you to keep my job.” He smiled, and there really was a little happiness there. “Go on. Get to your guy.”

His guy. But Brad’s image wasn’t coming to mind. He gathered La Tempête and was gone down the road, feeling her fly underneath him, nothing in his churning mind by the drumming of hooves.

* * *

Kris watched till his prince vanished down the starlit road. Then he kicked the pony into a reluctant walk back to the castle.

* * *

La Tempête had amazing endurance, but Adam didn’t want to push her, and gave her a full night’s rest in a tiny village the first night. He didn’t think his father would be instantaneous in sending someone after him, since they would know very well where he’d gone, but he wanted to find Brad and get away to somewhere secret before the Royal Guards did arrive. So he was up early the next morning and made the university town by midnight.

Brad would probably be asleep in his room in the manor house where the students lived, but there was laughter and music from the pub, and there was a chance he’d be there, so Adam stabled La Tempête and went in to see.

For most of two days and nights he had emphatically not been thinking about one Kris Allen. As a result, he had been thinking about him incessantly. His mind simply ran with Kris like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. He woke this morning with sheets sticky from a dream where he had pressed Kris hard into the mattress, and his cock twitched at the memory. In the dream Brad had been in the next room, trying on different clothes and popping into the doorway now and then to ask his opinion.

Finally Adam had abandoned all attempts to control his thoughts. When he saw Brad, it would be all right. His heart would orient itself. The reality of Brad, his beauty, his wit, his general brilliance, would light the flame that had only dimmed because of separation. All he needed was to get back in a room with Brad, and Kris Allen would be the fading memory.

Inside the pub was chaos. It smelled of alcohol and sweat and, if he wanted to be honest, urine. It was jammed with people and most of them seemed drunk, so a bit of errant pissing was probably to be expected. With the tightly packed crowd, it might be impossible to spot Brad even if he was there.

Except that he was right at Adam’s eye level, on the stairs leading to the second floor where there were private rooms for encounters of a personal nature. Adam had no trouble seeing him or his hand in the pants of the young nobleman sprawled beside him on the stairs. Brad was using his best bedroom eyes and talking to the man while he pumped him in languid strokes.

Adam watched, unable to move. The man squirmed under Brad’s skillful hand, and Brad smiled, the tip of his tongue showing playfully between his teeth. When the people nearest Adam went silent, staring from him to Brad, and that silence dominoed slowly through the room, Adam didn’t notice. He didn’t notice until Brad looked up, curious at the quiet, and met his eyes.

Brad’s expressive face did a quick demonstration of surprise, horror, panic, calculation and false delight. The man he’d been stroking looked around in confusion as Brad’s hand suddenly abandoned him, followed immediately by Brad himself.

Adam still hadn’t moved. His brain was assimilating the new information, comparing it to past knowledge and beliefs, in a process too quick for language. But by the time Brad popped out of the mob in front of him, the results of the processing were coming in.

“Hey, Brad! What the fuck?” His ex-new-friend gripped his apparently aching cock with his own hand and emitted a gutteral whine.

“Adam! Baby!” Brad threw his arms around him, and Adam wondered if he’d made any attempt to clean the hand that he’d been jacking the guy off with.

“Isn’t that Lord Marlbury?” Adam pointed with his chin at the suffering man on the stairs.

“Yes,” Brad sighed. “I’m sorry, Baby, I know I shouldn’t have. But I was missing you so much.” His exquisite eyes were wide with innocence, so much like Kris. And Adam suddenly realized what the difference was that made these two men, who looked so much alike, also look so different. And it was not physical at all; it was the way their hearts were expressed in their faces. Feature for feature, Brad might be more perfect. But there were a lot of pretty people in the world, and Adam knew, even from their short acquaintance, that Kris had a one-of-a-kind heart.

Brad was watching him, and whatever he saw must have scared him, because he pulled Adam’s head down and kissed him passionately.

Adam pushed him away slowly with one hand. “I don’t think so.”

The room was utterly silent except for the sudden grunting of Lord Marlbury, who had finished himself and was thrashing on the stairs like a fish on a boat deck. Adam couldn’t control the snort that broke loose, and the whole pub burst into laughter.

Brad laughed along with the others, but Adam could see the tension. Adam’s glance flicked over the guy now lying limply on the stairs. He was nothing like Adam. “I’m not even your type, am I? What was it, the prince thing? You were the one person I thought that didn’t matter to.”

“It doesn’t,” Brad said, but his tone was a shade too earnest. Brad was a social creature, and he reveled in status. In any situation he would tend to gravitate to the person with the most power. Adam should have seen it. The weariness of two solid days of riding fell on him suddenly and heavily.

“Just give me a chance,” Brad cooed, his hand sliding around Adam’s neck.

Adam disengaged it gently. “I don’t think so.”

“Adam, please! I love you!”

“No you don’t.”

“And you love me.”

Adam bit his lip. “I really did.” It was hard to believe it had all changed so fast. “But I’ve met somebody.”

Brad’s mouth dropped, and his face went bitchy. “So you’re no better than I am.”

“I didn’t say I was.” He looked past Brad at the drowsing lump on the stairs. “I was more faithful, although I guess not much.” He smiled sadly. “You’ve been a better teacher than any professor. Bye, Baby.” Adam kissed him on the cheek, gave an ironic bow to their rapt  
audience, and walked out.

As the door closed behind him somebody said, “Oooh, Brad. There goes your royal wedding.”

“Shut up!” Brad snapped. 

* * *

Adam stopped for the night at a shabby inn only a couple hours from home. He’d kept La Tempête moving fast, trying to outrun the scramble in his mind. Over the bitterness of his feelings for Brad was a sensation so light it was almost dizzying, the freedom of trying to tell himself he didn’t care about Kris. Even the thought of meeting his father didn’t seem anything but amusing. Hi looked forward to telling him that while it may not have been what they had in mind, the University had given him a first-class education in some very important things.

He grinned and slumped onto a bench, hoping the inn had some decent food, when a vaguely familiar voice said, “Well lookie who. It’s Prince Sonofabitch.”

He looked up into the face of one of the Northerners who’d been at the Toad. His buddies were rising from a table to join him. This was so not what he needed right now.

The speaker grinned through his blonde beard. “You really are Prince Lambert, aren’t you? It’s kind of surprising,” he gestured with a massive hand, “see you here. All by yourself. Did you run away again?” He chuckled, and the others laughed softly. Wild dogs, Adam thought, running in a pack, snarling greetings at each other, taking down whatever they came across.

“What a bad boy.” Blonde Beard shook his head.

“I think we should punish him,” said the smallest one. His beard was marred by a scar that ran through it like the branch of a dead tree. Adam leaned back casually. He had no weapon other than a hunting knife. He’d been trained to fight, but a knife was close-quarters fighting. If he was lucky he might take one of these guys, but there was no chance against more. He’d thought of taking a sword, but he hadn’t wanted to alert Kris that he was planning more than a trip into town.

“No, I think we should ask his daddy how much he’s worth.” He chukked Adam under the chin, and for a second Adam saw nothing but white in his desire to rip the guy’s head off. “We’re going there anyway.”

“We’re not gonna take the town?” The hugest of them was a redhead with a thick, slow voice.

“This doesn’t change anything.” Blonde Beard said, “It’s just a bonus.”

“But what do we do with him? Can’t take him with us,” Scar Beard protested.

Adam remembered Sheriff Carlton at the castle, telling the King about a fast-moving pack that had been raiding villages and leaving them half-destroyed. Adam’s stomach turned to ice. Now they were hitting Itchwich, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Kris was there. His family was there.

“No,” Blonde Beard said. “Take him out to the stable. Tie him up somewhere--good, but don’t kill him. Tell the stablehand to leave him the fuck alone. We’ll be back for him.” He grinned and patted Adam’s cheek. “He’s gonna make us rich.”

Adam knew he had one chance and focused past fear and rage to be ready. He walked quietly with Scar Beard, letting himself seem too scared to resist. In their arrogance they didn’t even check him for weapons. When they stepped into the stable, Adam’s hand found the knife by feel, as he’d been trained, and Scar Beard was dead a moment later.

He bridled La Tempête smoothly, threw the saddle on and cinched it with almost one motion. Economy of action was speed. He thrust Scar Beard’s sword into the scabbard on the saddle and looked for a back way out of the barn.

There was none. He mounted and faced the front, keeping his head low to clear the doorway. They sprung free like an arrow released and flew down the road toward home.

 

* * *

Kris let his fingers on the strings, the rhythm, the melody, fill his mind. He had lost his job. The King had been briefly spoken, but final. Kris didn’t mention that he had actually set the Prince free to be on his way. There was no point.

The owner of the Toad was letting he and Allison and Tommy play every night, and there was a basket at the side of the stage, if anybody wanted and could afford to put a little in in appreciation. It wouldn’t cover even food for any of them, and Kris wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

But the emptiness he felt was far less rational than that. A smile, blue eyes, strong hands, he felt their absence like a physical thing. They had never even be his, how could he hurt for having lost them? Trying to reason his way out of the feeling had achieved nothing. Now he just filled his mind with music, so it couldn’t think of anything else. 

They wrapped up the song to applause, and he glanced at Allison and Tommy. “Do a couple more, okay?”

“We been playing for three hours, man,” Tommy complained.

“Just a couple more.” He didn’t want the music to stop and leave room in his brain.

There was pity in Allison’s look. “Yeah, a couple more. Why not?” Tommy rolled his eyes, and she glared at him.

The door flew open with a BANG, and Adam rode in on La Tempête. The horse’s shoes pounded the floor boards, and people shouted in surprise and jumped back from where she jigged and sidled.

The first thing Kris took in was the lather on the horse. Something had to be very wrong for Adam to ride her that hard. And the Adam that looked down on them was not one he’d seen before. His hair was whipped into his face, and his eyes were steel. A swath of what had to be blood, still sticky, lay across the front of his shirt.

Adam’s gaze stopped on him for a second, then went to the crowd. “There are men coming, dangerous men. I don’t think we have much time. Allison, get to the castle. Tell the King I sent you. Tell him the outlaws he’s been looking for are on their way here, and we need help. Tommy, you go with her.” 

The two stood there. “Now!” Adam’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Go on,” Kris said, and they slipped past the horse and into the night.

“Well at least I know who’s in charge,” Adam half-smiled at Kris. 

“They’re afraid,” Kris said.

“So am I. I want you to rouse the town. Get everybody you can up to the castle--”

A low sound, like distant thunder.

“Damn,” Adam said. He drew a deep breath and looked at Kris. “Get everybody to the castle.” He spun the horse and sent her back out the door.

Kris heart beat once, twice. “Get your families out of their houses and across the bridge. We’ll gather there, go to the castle together. We stay together for protection.”

The room exploded quietly, as people ran for the door.

As they emptied into the street, Kris saw a figure on horseback at the end of the street, facing away. The thunder was close now. The figure calmly drew a sword. 

“No,” Kris said.

Some people were running for their houses, but others had stopped, staring with Kris.

“What’s he doing?

“He’s gonna slow them down,” Kris said, matter-of-factly.

Eight riders burst out of the night-dark forest.

The lone horseman must have tensed because his horse crouched and half-reared.

“No,” Kris said definitely, and a moment later he was back with the wicked poker from the Toad’s massive fireplace, and he was running. Running to the dancing horse and her blue-eyed rider. Running to something that had become impossibly important to him for reasons he could no better control than understand. Running to see that the man he loved did not stand alone.

Adam centered himself. Heard his swordmaster telling him that he had to let go of fear. Fear would make his muscles betray him. Fear would cloud his mind.

Clear. Calm.

He raised the sword. Planned his first strike.

They swept down on him too fast, a mob without strategy. He took Blonde Beard’s head on the right at the same time he felt a slice in his left arm. Then their momentum carried them past. They turned, their hate for him diverting them from their objective of the town. Good. Every moment they wasted on him was one in which Allison and Tommy got closer to the King. And then would come help, for the town anyway.

Now they circled him, and he felt a wild stab of grief at the thought they would hurt La Tempête while they were killing him. He cued her, and she leapt, kicking out behind, and he heard a crunch and a grunt. He felt another slice, this one in his side, and he turned into it, filleting the man with an elegant twist of his sword. Part of him gloated childishly over the amount he’d reduced their numbers.

But now another blow, and another. He tried to spin La Tempête, but she was shouldered by one of the other horses, much more massive, and went down. Adam was flung to the ground with no chance to protect his head. The last thing he saw was the improbable sight of people on foot wielding things that looked like cooking implements and Kris roaring like a lunatic and beating someone in the face with a stick.

* * *

A woman was crying. Adam forced his eyes open and saw...he tried to focus. It looked like his mother. And Kim Allen was hugging her.

He closed his eyes. Not only was his head killing him, he was having hallucinations.

“I saw that,” said a wonderful voice.

He slitted his eyes and shifted them. Kris. Smiling. Gently pushing his hair back. Arm in a sling.

“Wha’ happened to you?” Adam mumbled.

“I got kicked by a horse.”

“Tempête?”

“No. A bigger one.”

Panic struck. “Tempête?”

“She’s okay. She stepped on my foot though.”

Adam closed his eyes again and allowed a sound of suffering to escape. He truly didn’t know if it was the way he felt, or Kris’ horrifying incompetence with horses. “Get you some lessons.”

“Is he awake?” His mother, sounding nothing like herself.

“Mm-hmm.” Kris.

His mother’s scent. A kiss on his cheek. There was no doubt: he had brain damage. 

“He’s gonna be fine.” Kim.

“Nut bread,” he murmured.

“What?” the Queen asked.

“I think he’s not really with us yet,” Kim said. And Adam thought she was probably right and went back to sleep.

When Adam woke up next, it was evening, and the room was empty except for his father, in a chair beside the bed, reading and making notes. He tried to sit up, and the King looked over quickly and put the parchment aside. A warm hand pressed him back down.

“Hey there.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember the fight. But what--I only remember part.”

His dad looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before. “After you fell, the townspeople took on what was left of those thugs. There were only two of them alive by the time we got there. And they’re not in very good shape.” 

“But weren’t they fighting with, like, forks?”

The King grimaced. “It wasn’t pretty. But apparently they didn’t like what had been done to ‘their prince.’”

“Their...? What?”

“The townspeople are calling you their prince. They’ve taken claim to you over everyone else in the kingdom.”

But the townsfolk didn’t like him. Not a thing had made sense since he’d regained consciousness. 

His father pressed a hand to his shoulder. “I--” He seemed to lose his way for a moment. “--am very proud of you.”

Adam blinked. “Really?”

His father smiled. “Yes, really.” He kissed him on the forehead. “I’m going to tell your boyfriend you’re awake now.”

“Boyfriend?” He was lost in some weird world where everyone had gone crazy. But the King was already gone.

A moment later, Kris looked cautiously through the doorway. Boyfriend. Adam smiled.

“I’m sorry,” Kris said, settling into the chair and not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know why your--the King--keeps calling me your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Adam said in the smallest voice he could manage. And threw in a pout.

Kris responded perfectly. His words tripped over each other. “It’s not that I--it’s just I don’t--I mean I didn’t tell him--I wasn’t trying to--” Kris halted because he had seen Adam’s smirk. He pressed his lips together and tried to glare.

Adam reached out a hand, annoyed at how weak it was, and found Kris’ good one. Kris’ mouth opened in surprise, then he took the questing fingers gently in his, and sat there looking at him and blushing. Adam thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

* * *

Kris barely left Adam’s side for the next week. He kept reminding himself that it couldn’t be anything serious. Adam was royalty, and there were rules about long-term relationships, and he was certain that fabric merchant’s sons were an exclusion. But Adam needed help getting around, and someone to make him rest when he tried to be a defiant brat, which was just about any time he was awake, and they got along so unbelievably well that it was easier to just go with it and enjoy it while he could. If he was falling in love, well then he was. He no longer wanted to save himself. He just wanted to be around the next time Adam laughed, or the next time he wanted to pull him into bed, even though Kris had firmly stopped things at the point where he felt Adam’s recovery might be endangered.

He leaned on the balcony parapet, looking across the castle grounds to town. The King was establishing a guard house there, so help would be immediately at hand if it were needed in the future.

“Take your shirt off.”

He turned around. Adam reclined in a chair, looking restless.

“I am not your sex toy,” Kris informed him.

There came the expected pout. He knew Adam was bored by the confinement, but that was too bad. He had another week or so before he could begin to be active.

“It’s your duty as my boyfriend,” Adam informed him back.

Kris smiled. “I wish I could be your boyfriend.”

Adam’s face fell. “Don’t even tell me you’re engaged to someone else. What craziness have you thought up now?”

“I am not crazy,” Kris told him with dignity. “But we both might as well recognize that we’re from different worlds. And I can be your sex toy,” he couldn’t repress a smile, “but we can’t really be, you know, you and I.” 

Adam’s eyes grew round, and for a minute Kris thought he was going to yell or maybe cry. But he got up and limped back indoors without a word.

Kris sighed. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. He just wanted them both to be realistic. It was better to acknowledge the truth now than--

The King strolled onto the balcony and up to the parapet. He turned to lean on it and smile at Kris, who bowed. He still couldn’t get used to running into this man, who made no effort at all to be impressive, and yet was utterly so.

“Your Highness.”

“Kristopher Allen.” The King looked him up and down and gave a small nod. “I would like to state formally that I enthusiastically endorse any relationship, including romantic and even matrimonial, between you and my son.” He cocked his head at Kris as if to say, Good enough?

“He--I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

“You’re being stupid. And I’m really tired of people doing that. If you hurt my son it better be because that’s what you want, not because you imagine it’s what other people want. And if somebody else has a problem with it, they’ll have to deal with me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The King gave him another smile and strode inside.

A minute later, Adam limped back and sat down looking smug beyond belief. Kris shook his head. 

“You have to be my sex toy,” Adam said.

“I do NOT have to be your sex toy.”

Adam pouted.

* * *

A month later. Kris woke up alone, but he could hear Adam moving around in the bathroom. He lay there, remembering the pleasure of the night before and the wonder of going to sleep in the arms of his love. It was warm, and he threw the covers back to feel the morning air. 

Adam walked out of the bathroom and stopped dead, staring at the bed. “Oh.” His breath escaped in appreciation.

“Come on in.” Kris lifted the edge of the cover invitingly.

“Your mom’s here,” Adam said. “She’s on her way up.”

“What?” Kris jumped out of bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was about to. But I didn’t want to wake you up. You were so beautiful.”

Kris threw an exasperated look over his naked shoulder while he tore through his wardrobe and Adam admired his naked ass.

There was a knock at the door. “It’s Kim!” a voice said brightly. Kris jammed a leg into a random pair of trousers.

Adam opened the door a crack and leaned into it. “Kris is naked. We have to wait.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Kris said, not thankfully at all, and pulled a shirt over his head. 

The door swung wide. “I’ve seen all before,” Kim said, and gave Adam a kiss and a hug, and then moved on to Kris.

“Kim?” Adam’s mother stood at the door. “Good morning, Adam. Kris. Kim--I know you said it couldn’t be ready by then, but I was wondering about the blue dress for the Summer Ball, is there any chance?”

“Well, if I get Prince Adam’s peacock coat done, then I might be able to--”

“But I thought it was done!”

“Oh, that was the short one,” Adam told her. “Now I’m getting a long one.”

“I’m sorry,” Kim shrugged, “but Prince Adam is my employer.”

The Queen smiled at Kim and sent her son a slightly threatening look. “Certainly. Well, I’ll see you all at lunch.” And she left.

Adam and Kim shared an evil grin. “You guys, she’s the Queen,” Kris said.

“Oh, she’ll get her dress. I’m just reminding her of my priorities.”

“You don’t need to build his ego any more than it is.”

Kim handed Adam a black and silver brocade (325 crowns per yard) coat worked with the Prince’s device’s and lined in blue silk. Adam held it reverently. “Ohhhhhhhhhh.”

“Put it on, now. We’ve got to fit it. Your dad brought the samples for the new Guard uniforms,” she told Kris. “The King asked him to stay for lunch, so you’ll get to see him.” Between royal contracts and the popularity that came from suddenly being the preferred provider to the royal family, business had gone from zero to insane.

Adam had the coat on now. He strode across the room and swirled it. His face lit with delight. “I love it!” Somehow his eyes fell on Kris. “I love it so much.”

“You’ve got very good taste, Prince Adam,” Kim said, pretending not to notice the direction of his gaze.

Adam smiled at Kris, who could do nothing but smile back. He still didn’t know how his life had brought him here, but his disbelief hadn’t made it go away. Adam adored him, even he couldn’t deny it.

“What?” Adam said, handing the coat back to Kim.

“I guess I should give up.”

“Give up what?” Adam said, suspicious.

“Fighting being happy.”

Adam walked up to him and pulled them close together. Out of the corner of his eye, Kris saw his mom lay the coat over her arm and slip out of the room.

“The forces of happiness have you surrounded,” Adam’s voice was low and soft against his cheek. “It’ll go easier for you,” Adam kissed his neck, “if you accept your fate.” 

“Okay,” Kris sighed. “I surrender.” 

Adam growled and pushed him down on the bed.

  
 

# # #


End file.
